


I've got dreams of my own (but I want to make yours come true)

by TullyBlue



Series: Heaven's Gate AU [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Can be read alone, Canon? Don't Know Her, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gift Giving, Insecurity, M/M, Sewing Master Uryu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24805108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TullyBlue/pseuds/TullyBlue
Summary: “You’re deserving of something created with more skill than that ragdoll Ichigo calls a lion.”Yasutora stared at the stuffed lion in Uryu’s hands, a perfect replica of his favorite character from Carnivore Kingdom, Ponkichi. His expression hadn’t changed. Uryu glanced down at the plush in his hand, eyes falling on the back of the lion’s head, where its mane had been flattened down a bit. He should have put it in a box, and wrapped that box, now that he thought of it. What was he thinking, presenting a gift like this? Distressed, his hands started to retract.
Relationships: Ishida Uryuu/Sado "Chad" Yasutora, implied Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Heaven's Gate AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794112
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	I've got dreams of my own (but I want to make yours come true)

**Author's Note:**

> A fluffy one-shot that only contains a few nods at the first story in this series. I love Uryu, I love rambling about being anxious, and I love contributing to the ChadIshi fic count.
> 
> You can find me ranting about ChadIshi over at [tully-blue](https://tully-blue.tumblr.com/)!

The key scraped against the face of the door knob, missing the lock one, two, three times consecutively. Uryu took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. Hands a little steadier, he tried again. He finally unlocked the door and stepped into the darkness of his apartment.

He flicked on the lights, critical eyes sweeping over the place. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed, so Uryu went about removing his shoes and coat. Most of the time, the serenity of his empty apartment was more than enough to erase the day’s worries. That wasn’t happening today. He ignored his usual routine of putting the kettle on and planning his dinner for the night, instead headed straight toward the area he reserved for his work.

His bedroom doubled as a workspace, or possibly the other way around, since the only things unrelated to studying and sewing in the room were his clothes and his futon. The desks shoved together to hold both his sewing machine and his study materials dominated the room. If pressed, he would even admit that his desk chair was far more comfortable than his futon, and he certainly spent more time in it. Uryu had more drawers for needles and thread than he did his clothes. He was dedicated to his craft.

Uryu sat down with a scowl, a large bag from Sunflower Sewing on the table next to him. The fabric alone was an unusual purchase for him, let alone the small fixings he had also picked up. It would be worth it – the effort and the cost – when Kurosaki saw just exactly what Uryu could do. Mending torn sleeves and ripped jeans was nothing.

“I’ll show him,” he hissed, tossing aside three pairs of scissors until he settled on the right ones. “How dare that idiot underestimate my abilities... I told him, if they had given me more time, that outfit I made for Kon would have been much more impressive.” Both Orihime and Rukia were pleased with their clothes. Of course, his work would be better than whoever had made the scrap Kurosaki had. Uryu clenched his jaw. “Damn Kurosaki thinks he can insult me...”

He skipped dinner, working well into the night to finish his project. There wouldn’t be class tomorrow, but he had plans to see his friends, and also to show up Kurosaki. The fool might have been more powerful than him at the moment, which Uryu hated to admit, even to himself, but that was the only advantage he could have over him. Uryu could not allow Ichigo, of all people, another victory. He certainly could not have this one.

It was dark when he took his first break, long hours after he had begun working. The majority of the stitching was done and he finally allowed himself to step away from the sewing table. His fingers were stiff, mouth and eyes dry. His vision blurred when he stood and Uryu sighed, knowing that he had gone too long without eating again. He padded into the kitchen, stretching as he went, back popping in a satisfying arch. Uryu put the kettle on and rummaged through the fridge. With a cup of Orihime’s “rainy day” tea blend, he warmed the ache out of his hands, nearly nodding off halfway through his rushed dinner. Fighting the drowsiness, he flexed his hands a few times and stood up. He poured another cup of tea, swirled in a spoonful of honey, and got back to work. Uryu had someone to impress.

The ringing of his alarm caused him to roll straight off of his futon, blanket tangling around his legs, eyes adjusting to the sudden realization that the room was fully lit. He shut off the source of the noise and fumbled for his glasses. That was always the beginning of Uryu actually waking up. He tugged the blanket off, the project he had been working on the night before tumbling out of it.

Rubbing his eyes, Uryu reached for the fallen work, and placed it gently in his bag. How careless of him to have fallen asleep with something that took him so long to create. Though to be fair, he couldn’t recall ever making it to his futon in the first place.

His morning shower was rushed; his morning sencha swapped for coffee. Though he had calculated for a late night and sat his alarm for mid-morning, rather than nearly dawn, the more intricate parts of his project had taken him longer than expected. As usual, he hadn't gotten enough sleep, but he felt better after a large meal. His stomach stopped complaining afterwards, too, and even with a bit of exhaustion in his bones, Uryu locked the door behind him feeling self-satisfied. The study session they were supposed to have at Orihime’s would be trying, he knew, but he had something to brighten his day.

He checked the locks and patted his satchel, smirking to himself. Today felt promising.

Naturally, he arrived at Orihime’s before any of the others. Though he lived the furthest away, Uryu often left early enough to arrive first anyway. Orihime lived close to both the Kurosaki clinic and Yasutora’s house. It must have been close to Rukia’s place, too, since she lived close to the clinic. He didn’t think any of them had yet to see where she stayed at in their world. She had spoken to him of the Kuchiki compound, the streets of Rukongai, and even her small room in the 13th Division’s barracks. Nothing of a residence in the human world, however.

Uryu was distracted from the strangeness of that line of thought when Orihime offered him a blueberry-and-bean-paste muffin, baked fresh that morning, which he hastily declined. The big meal he ate only an hour or so earlier gave him a good cover. Then, the doorbell rang before Orihime could pout too much, and he sighed in relief.

She greeted Sado as exuberantly as she had Uryu, though he only managed a wave to the tall, unflappable boy in the doorway. He looked at the clock and ground his teeth together. It wasn’t in his plans to give Yasutora the fruit of his labors without Ichigo there to watch, but it could certainly make him seem petty if he were to wait. And he - could be, he was learning to admit. No one else got under his skin like Kurosaki; nothing bothered him more than the thought of failure. So, yes, the slights from yesterday were a part of gift to Yasutora, though Uryu contributed his ire at Ichigo’s remarks to have stemmed from the implications towards his relationship, rather than the actual insult to his skills. He could sew whatever he wanted, had crafted a number of wonderful things on a whim or when asked.

Uryu knew he excelled at sewing. He was awarded the position of President of the Crafts Club his very first year, after all, and it had gone undisputed in the years since. There was proof – tangible expressions, public knowledge, personal opinion – that he was good.

Yasutora settled next to Uryu at Orihime’s table, his knee bumping into Uryu’s thigh as he adjusted his long legs into a comfortable position. He only nodded at the other boy’s murmured apology. A bead of sweat was building at the nape of his neck, right under his collar, and he was acutely aware of his satchel, pressed against the thigh farthest from Yasutora. He smoothed his hand over it and took a shaky breath.

The little noise caught Yasutora’s attention, even as Orihime tried to press her muffins onto him. He sent Uryu a searching look from beneath his bangs. Then, he slid his eyes back to their hostess and waited for her to finish offering him one of those monstrous breakfast creations. “I’m not very hungry,” he rumbled, “but thank you. Could I bother you for a cup of tea?”

Her mouth popped open and Uryu fought the urge to smile. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have offered Ishida-kun tea as soon as he got here, and you got here after he did! Silly me. How could I forget something as simple as tea?” She stood up quickly, head bowed, visibly distressed.

“I wasn’t thirsty when I arrived,” Uryu offered, hoping to ease her worries. He knew Orihime got worked up easily and still seemed to carry a negative opinion of herself, which the collective group of their friends consistently tried to dissuade. “A cup right now sounds like a fine idea. Thank you, Sado-kun.”

“Right away!” Smile back in place, if smaller than before, she retreated to the kitchen and started to look for her kettle. Uryu sat beside Yasutora, distracted by his thoughts until the other boy suddenly stood up. Sharp blue eyes were drawn to the long line of his body as Yasutora crossed over to Orihime in a few long, powerful strides, reaching over her head to fetch the kettle from a shelf too high for her.

“Here you go,” he said, voice low and soft as always, hands gentle as he handed the kettle to Orihime.

Uryu abandoned his thoughts in order to study the way Yasutora’s shoulders moved, his shirt having ridden up enough to expose a bit of his smooth, tanned skin. It settled with his arms back at his side. He waved off Orihime’s thanks and returned to Uryu, thighs flexing visibly through his jeans when he sank to the ground. Swallowing hard, he eyed the seams on that particular pair of denims, and recognized them as one he had stitched back together for the other boy. A pair that he had tailored meticulously. The memory of taking Yasutora’s measurements made him wish he had asked for tea when he arrived, after all.

Their knees were more than brushing together once he was seated. Uryu could feel the warmth rolling off Yasutora as if he were a space heater, his muscular thigh a hot line against Uryu’s own. His hand inched towards his satchel, fingers barely curled around the clasp, when Yasutora spoke, causing him to jump hard enough the bag fumbled away from him. “What is it, Uryu?”

Exhaling through his nose, Uryu urged his heart to stop racing. He looked to his satchel. It had kept shut, though both boys eyed it in an awkward silence. “Well,” Uryu said, breaking the tension, “I have a gift for you.”

He pulled the bag into his lap, more careful than when he had tossed it, as Yasutora turned to face him, surprise in his big eyes. He opened it up and couldn’t get any further than that. Orihime was humming to herself in the kitchen, a good white noise to focus on while he gathered his nerves. Pushing up his glasses, he started to over explain himself, as usual. “For a while now, I have been thinking about using a bit of my free time to craft something for you. I had a lot of different ideas, such as a quilt made out of those floral shirts of yours that got too destroyed to salvage, but could never decide on one. Yesterday, Kurosaki’s comments about how much you adore that annoying plushie showed me the obvious choice.” He reached inside the satchel and wrapped his hand around the soft object. Yasutora gazed at him, eyes warm and earnest. “You’re deserving of something created with more skill than that ragdoll Ichigo calls a lion.”

Yasutora stared at the stuffed lion in Uryu’s hands, a perfect replica of his favorite character from _Carnivore Kingdom_ , Ponkichi. His expression hadn’t changed. Uryu glanced down at the plush in his hand, eyes falling on the back of the lion’s head, where its mane had been flattened down a bit. He should have put it in a box, and wrapped that box, now that he thought of it. What was he thinking, presenting a gift like this? Distressed, his hands started to retract.

Lightning fast, in that way of his that scared most people, Yasutora stopped them. He wrapped his fingers around one of Uryu’s wrists and didn’t let go even when he took the lion out of his hands. Uryu wanted to excuse himself, rush to Orihime’s cramped bathroom, and expel the butterflies in his stomach. It had nothing and everything to do with how Yasutora loomed over him. He was so broad. He was so close. Another bead of sweat rolled down his back and he shivered, glancing up at Yasutora over the rim of his glasses.

His hand crept from Uryu’s wrist to his elbow and a smile bloomed on Yasutora's face. He forgot how to breathe when Yasutora leaned down and smiled against his lips, for only a glorious second, before he coaxed Uryu into a soft kiss. The lion was still in his hands and the smiled returned to his lips when he pulled back. Uryu waited for his lungs to remember how to function properly, blue eyes locked on Yasutora.

“I love him,” he said. Yasutora swept a thumb over his name, stitched with a dark brown thread into the paw of the lion. “He does look much better than Kon – exactly like Ponkichi.”

Pride swelled in his chest and Uryu grinned, small and honest. “I was hoping you would like him. Truthfully, it’s been years since I made anything that required stuffing from scratch – the occasional repair to Kon, Ririn, or the others, of course-”

Someone else started knocking on the door at the same time Yasutora decided to shut Uryu up with a kiss, dragging him closer by his elbow, making his head spin. It was a cheap tactic. He was not ashamed to say it worked on him, however. The details of his work could be discussed at any time; there was only one first reaction, and Yasutora was very good at getting his point across. Learning to speak the language of his plush lips and scorching hands had taught him that much.

“Hey! We’re here to study, not suck face!” he heard Kurosaki bark. Were he in his own home, or even Yasutora’s, he would have no trouble ignoring the redheaded menace. At someone else’s home, especially Orihime’s, he found himself too polite to do so, to his displeasure. His boyfriend felt differently.

Yasutora brought one big hand to cup Uryu’s face, and sighed against his lips so sweetly. He cracked his eyes open in time to see the other large, tanned hand send a rude gesture in Ichigo’s direction, who squawked indignantly. Uryu whimpered when Yasutora deepened the kiss, dragging his tongue along Uryu’s bottom lip and brushing his thumb along a pale cheekbone.

He drew back, chuckling when Uryu instinctively tried to follow, and turned to the others. “Sorry about that, Orihime. I was thanking Uryu.”

“Thanking him? It looked like you were-”

“What were you thanking him for?” Rukia piped up, stomping her foot down on Ichigo’s. His leg jerked upwards, a scowl directed her way and a veritable storm cloud raging above his orange hair.

Uryu, still gathering his wits, pushed his glasses up and positioned himself in a way that didn’t look like he was about to crawl into Yasutora’s lap. He stared Ichigo down when the boy beside him lifted up his new Ponkichi plush to show the others.

It really was fine work. Uryu made sure to spend a good amount of time choosing Sunflower Sew’s softest, most durable plush fabric, and a higher quality polycarbonate stuffing blend than he normally used. The mane and tail tip were full, faux fur pieces. They were nothing like the tiny little spikes Kon had in a poor replacement. He had painstakingly sewn that faux fur on. He selected the perfect pair of beady, little eyes. He stitched the lines of the mouth along the length of the lion’s snout to mimic Ponkichi’s signature smirk. Uryu created something up to par, a fantastic replica of the character he spent every Sunday morning staring at, feet tucked under Yasutora’s thigh and coffee in their hands.

He would see his work on the television screen tomorrow morning. And this time, Yasutora would have his own little Ponkichi tucked under his arm, thanks to Uryu. He hoped the smile tugging at Yasutora’s lips would be the same.

“Uryu made him for me,” he said, cuddling the damn thing, and Uryu smirked openly.

“Oh, wow, Uryu! What a wonderful job! He looks so much like Ponkichi. I can’t believe it,” Orihime exclaimed.

Rukia’s expression was openly impressed, her soft spot for soft things the exact same as Yasutora’s. “Lovely work! You’ve really outdone yourself, Ishida-kun! The little paws...” She trailed off, biting her lip and looking on with wide eyes.

“There’s no way! You bought that!”

The blood froze in Uryu’s veins and he narrowed his eyes dangerously at Ichigo. “What did you just say?”

“Uh,” he fumbled, eyes darting to the other three for help. None was given. The girls stared at him with blank faces. Yasutora still had a smile tugging at the corners of his lips that Uryu kept glancing out of the corner of his eye to see, before Kurosaki opened his mouth and called for his coldest glare. Ichigo gulped and took the safest route of backtracking as quickly as possible. “I can’t believe you made something so... realistic, is all. Looks just like ‘em.”

Yasutora slung an arm around Uryu’s shoulders, the strength making him huff an involuntary breath even as the familiarity of it made him lean into the other boy. “Talented, isn’t he?” He handed the plush to the girls to inspect. They immediately did so, dissecting all the details of the toy and the work Uryu must have put into it. “If you learn to keep your mouth shut, he might even be willing to make you a couple.” His gaze slid to the Rukia and Orihime, before moving back to a sweating Ichigo, dark eyes glittering with amusement. “Might come in handy.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” he grumbled. The kettle started to scream and he jumped backwards, looking around in panic. When he caught the amused look Uryu and Yasutora shared, Kurosaki threw his hands up and stalked over to the stove.

Uryu spent the day with his friends in a rare mood. It was a happiness that bubbled out of him, and stayed with him as he and Yasutora said their goodbyes. As usual, he wasn’t sure how much studying any of them actually accomplished when they were all together, but he had enjoyed himself. The girls and Yasutora continued to praise his efforts with the stuffed lion. Ichigo continued to grumble, and stare too obviously whenever Rukia cradled the plushie in her arms like something precious. Uryu whispered to Yasutora that the fool couldn’t help himself, knowing all the while exactly how the fool felt, his own eyes trained on a smiling mouth more often than not.

He and Yasutora returned to his apartment, finishing the work they were actually assigned over the weekend while they waited for dinner to be delivered. They ate together comfortably, during which Uryu finally got the chance to explain, in depth, the process of making Ponkichi. Yasutora was the best listener he knew; even when he used a hundred words where ten would have sufficed, it still felt as though he paid attention to each and every one. He never felt overlooked or effusive with Yasutora.

They retreated to the couch once the dishes were cleared away, music playing softly for Yasutora and Uryu with a book in hand. He waited for Yasutora to sprawl out on the couch, arms under his head and legs partially hanging over the arm of the couch, eyes closed. Uryu plopped his book onto the other boy’s broad chest and he smiled in response. Yasutora stayed perfectly still as Uryu got comfortable. He ended up draped over his chest, legs tangled together, book open across the expanse of Yasutora’s collar. A tan arm wrapped around his waist, warm and welcome. He lost himself in the novel, smiling absently when he noticed that Yasutora had fallen asleep clutching both him and Ponkichi to his chest.

Yasutora’s lips were tilted up in a similar smile. It was quiet, affectionate, pleased. Obviously, Kurosaki’s ludicrous insinuations were false. Uryu could make Yasutora happy. They might not be an obvious match, or even one that made sense to a lot of people, but that didn’t matter much. People were going to stare at them for a number of reasons. He was both too formal and too brash, with an impressive spiritual pressure and a legacy to live up to; Yasutora was a nearly six-and-half-foot tall Mestizo living outside of Tokyo, with inhuman abilities. They would attract attention on their own, or together. Turning his nose up at them was no problem at all, with Yasutora at his side. He was Uryu Ishida, the last Quincy, President of the Karakura Town High’s Craft Club, and Yasutora Sado’s boyfriend.

Uryu took pride in his titles. He didn’t like to feel as if anything was handed to him, as if he were somehow unworthy despite the award being in his hands. It made him sick to think he didn’t deserve what he had.

Carefully, he put his book on the table and raised his hand to wake Yasutora. A gentle touch to his cheek did nothing, nor did calling his name and shaking his shoulder. Uryu pressed his cheek to the warm chest beneath him in defeat and sighed, allowing himself a few moments of peace. Then he pried himself out of Yasutora’s grip and stood. That was a feat in itself – several minutes' worth of wriggling and attempting to lift his boyfriend’s steel bar of an arm – but he managed. Uryu put his glasses atop the book, retrieved the biggest blanket he had, and turned the lights off. Music still crooned from the speakers when he climbed back over Yasutora to wedge himself between the couch and a solid body. He resigned himself to letting the disc play itself out and snuggled closer to Yasutora.

Moments after Uryu got settled, Yasutora shifted, allowed him a bit of space by turning on his side, and slung an arm over Uryu’s waist as if he had never left, only moved around a little. Something wordless and content rumbled through his chest. Uryu reached up to tug the toy lion’s tail out of his eye, biting back a sigh. They would both suffer for this tomorrow morning, he knew. His couch was too small for Yasutora, alone. He should rouse Yasu and make them both sleep on the futons shoved together in the corner of his workroom, after he had brushed his teeth and washed his face. He should turn the music off and take the disc out. He shouldn't be closing his eyes and getting more comfortable by the second. Despite knowing all of this, he curled an arm around Yasutora, his hand slipping under one of his endless, hideous shirts to smooth along the warm, expansive back beneath it and rest between Yasutora’s broad shoulders. Uryu allowed himself to drift to sleep, knowing exactly where he was, and that Yasutora was happy to be there.


End file.
